


Charcoal Can Get Everywhere

by AdamantSteve



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Life Drawing, M/M, Stalking, Stripper AU, stripper!Clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-12 13:49:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7107520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdamantSteve/pseuds/AdamantSteve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint is a stripper, and he kind of accidentally stalks his favourite customer... all the way to an art class. </p><p>Written for wonderful TwangCat's birthday, who asked for something voyeuristic.</p><p>This is *sort of* a sequel to the Stripper!Clint fic I wrote forever ago, though that was quite serious and intense in tone whereas this is more lighthearted, and I haven't officially made this a sequel to that as various characters such as Bucky are totally different between one and the other. </p><p>Super mega thanks for LillyJK and Ponceflower for their lightning speed beta read and also for being all-round awesome ladies :)</p><p>And happy birthday Twangcat! You're pretty good yourself :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	Charcoal Can Get Everywhere

**Author's Note:**

  * For [twangcat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twangcat/gifts).



> OK So don't get me wrong, stalking IRL is bad! If you are upset by anything to do with it, please don't read this, though having said that, this fic is quite silly and lighthearted rather than a serious or dark story. 
> 
> Check the end notes for spoilers if you're concerned or unsure if you should read or not :) And don't take this fic as me condoning this kind of boundary-pushing semi-stalking behaviour!

 

 

 

Bucky laughs at Clint when he realises what’s up - they’re backstage, Bucky bare chested and rubbing baby oil over the tattoos that cover his right arm, Clint furtively peeking out at the stage and the club beyond. 

 

“Lemme guess - Business Dad?” 

 

“Don’t call him that,” Clint says. “His name is _Coulson_.” He rolls the word in his mouth like something to be savoured. 

 

Bucky just snorts, holding up the slippery bottle of oil in an unspoken offer to do Clint’s back. Clint shrugs ok, turning so that Bucky can reach everywhere he needs to while Clint keeps squinting out into the crowd. “Y’know, he totally got a boner last time I gave him a private dance.”

 

“Shocker.” Bucky’s hands are warm and firm on Clint’s back. He drips some oil over Clint’s shoulders so he can rub it over his chest himself. 

 

“And he gave me his tie.” 

 

“You mentioned.” 

 

Clint can’t really see shit, the lights are too bright for him to see much beyond the edge of the stage, but he knows that Coulson is out there - Natasha gave him a nod on his way out back to get ready, and work ethic be damned - he wants to put on a good show if his favourite customer is here. 

 

—

 

Phil really needs to stop doing this - he does the math in his head and estimates he’s probably dropped almost $1000 at this place in the last few months, what with the door charge, the whiskey, the ties he keeps accidentally on purpose leaving behind, not to mention the private dances. 

 

He rolls the whiskey in his glass and waits for the show to begin. He can see Clint and one of the other dancers just off stage, bare chested and rubbing oil all over each other. He’s not sure what they’re saying to each other, but the guy with the tattoos seems to be ribbing Clint over something, and Clint keeps rolling his eyes and scowling back at him. 

 

The lights dim along with the music, and then a spotlight lands on the stage as heavy dance music starts pumping. Phil’s seen this a dozen times by now, but he’s still transfixed as Clint and his friend gyrate against one another, all but fucking for all the oil and sexual tension and hands on each other’s bodies. 

 

He drains his glass and gestures at the bartender for another, discretely shifting in his seat as the tattooed dancer tugs on the bars in Clint’s nipples. 

 

—

 

Clint knows he shouldn’t be facebook stalking a client, OK? He knows that. Still, after running out of cash and using a credit card, Natasha being the spy she is told Clint the guy’s first initial, so Clint’s spent the last few days trawling through all the P. Coulsons he can find. 

 

“What are you doing?” says a voice behind him, and Clint closes the laptop too quickly to look anything other than guilty and turns around to Tony’s unimpressed look. He’s not usually home from the office that he runs his myriad internet start-ups from this early.

 

“He’s e-stalking that DILFy guy he’s obsessed with,” calls Sam from the kitchen, and Clint decides he’s going to do all his nefarious internetting from the privacy of his own room from now on, even if he is going to use Tony’s spare laptop to do so.

 

“Hmm,” says Tony, vaulting over the back of the couch to land beside Clint and grab the computer out of his hands. “Let me try.”

 

—

 

Phil showers and shaves, unusual for so late in the day but part of his ritual anyhow. This has been a Friday night tradition for a while now, after having stumbled into it as a favour for an old friend and found the whole thing rather meditative. 

 

He dresses in jeans and a tshirt, having made the mistake of wearing a suit to the art institute before, throws on a brown leather jacket and heads out the door. He’ll grab a snack on the way and see if anyone’s up for dinner after class. And if not, maybe he’ll pay another visit to the Club…

 

—

 

“Life drawing?!” Sam exclaims, peering over one of Tony’s shoulders as Clint leans heavily on the other. Tony has managed to find Phil Coulson’s Facebook page, Twitter account and his LinkedIn, and through cross referencing them along with what are probably supposed to be private work calendars and a class schedule for the art institute, has determined that Phil Coulson apparently has a life drawing class starting in about 45 minutes. 

 

Clint sits back, Tony and Sam’s pontification fading into the background. He’s kinda… bummed, actually. Coulson must come by and watch Clint writhe around on stage cause he’s an artist who looks at naked bodies for work. He probably just watches Clint cause it’s only a little more expensive than whatever these classes cost. 

 

Sure, maybe he’s inspiring or whatever, but still. He thought they had a thing. 

 

He’s not entirely sure what he’s planning on doing as he grabs his keys and his motorcycle helmet, but dammit he’s definitely doing _something_.

 

He arrives with enough time to really start wondering what the hell he’s doing, when a woman who is probably an art teacher judging by the long, floaty clothes and masses of silver jewellery approaches him and asks if he’s there for the life drawing class. 

 

“Sure,” he blurts out. “Uh huh, yep. Naked drawing for me.” 

 

The woman laughs and has him follow her into the building - the kind of library-esque place that Clint always feels like he’s gonna get yelled at for making too much noise in. She leads him to a large, well lit room with easels set around in a circle where Clint assumes a naked person is going to be standing any minute. There are a couple of other people already perched at easels, setting up paper and pencils and sticks of charcoal about themselves and generally ignoring Clint. Phil doesn’t seem to be anywhere. 

 

The woman lets Clint pick a place and then helps set up the easel with some paper, smiling when Clint realises he doesn’t have anything to draw with (not that he even CAN draw - what the hell is he doing?!) and producing a stick of charcoal from within her floaty clothes and winking at him. 

 

Clint’s a stripper, he tells himself once he’s paid the lady $5 and has been left alone with his messy stick of charcoal and his blank pieces of paper. He should be A-OK with whatever this is, but there’s gonna be a _naked person_ standing _right there_ in a second, not to mention Philip DILF Coulson is gonna walk in any minute and see Clint here like some kind of stalker. He’s hardly gonna be able to play it off like he loves life drawing and does it all the time when he’s barely able to draw a stick figure. God, Coulson probably draws like, Sistine Chapel shit. 

 

More students file in to the room, setting up and talking amongst themselves, but there’s still no sign of Phil, and Clint wonders if Tony’s Sherlock Holmes schtick led them down the wrong path. It doesn’t really jibe with what Clint knows of the man after all - Mr Suit going to a college art class in his spare time? Yeah right, he probably trades rare whiskeys or sells diamonds or something when he isn’t being all powerful in meetings in skyscrapers. 

 

Clint gets lost watching The Coulson Show in his mind for a bit til the art lady claps her hands and tells them it’s time to begin, explaining that their model will do a series of poses, moving when he’s ready to, so the idea is to draw quickly and expressively, not trying to be precise at all. Clint’s thinking about how he kinda figured it would be a female model when Coulson finally walks in — in a bathrobe. 

 

Which he casually takes off and hands to the lady. 

 

Clint gasps and then ducks behind his easel, peeking back just to make sure he isn’t hallucinating. Nope: that is the hot guy who watches Clint dance a couple of times a week, naked as a jaybird and standing in the middle of the room, toned and lean and apparently hiding a lot more muscle under his suits than Clint had ever imagined. 

 

He hasn’t noticed Clint yet, thankfully facing away from him. He puts his hands up and clasps them behind his head, and Clint spends the next minute or so staring at his ass. The art lady comes by and whispers that Clint should go ahead and make some marks, nodding over at one of the other students who is frantically scrawling across the paper, vague lines that look kind of like Naked Coulson who is standing Right There.

 

“Crap, sorry,” Clint replies, nervously putting the charcoal to the paper and cringing as he watches his hand make an ugly black line which does not do the man in front of him justice at all. 

 

—

 

Phil changes his pose, putting his hands down and resting one on his hip, leaning into it like he might be casually waiting for a coffee order. He lets his mind wander, pulling it back from thinking about his favourite dancer lest certain parts of him get too invested in his reverie, though despite his best efforts, his thoughts always seek to return there.

 

There’s a fan directly above him, gently wafting warm air onto his naked skin. He’s glad of it - it can be chilly work posing for the class, and the last thing he wants is to start visibly shivering and messing up his pose for the students. 

 

—

 

Clint draws a… thing, which is not entirely unlike the shape of a human being. Coulson moves, still facing away, and he tries again, making a concerted effort to use more of the paper when the art lady tells him not to be afraid to use as much paper as he wants, since it’s not going anywhere and it’s already been paid for. 

 

This new pose gives Clint a good angle on Coulson’s ass, so he draws the curve of it over and over til he can get it just right. He has plans to keep going and draw the rest of him - the strong shoulders, the firm looking arms, the meat of his thighs, but then he moves again and it’s too late.

 

And Coulson is looking right at him. 

 

He looks shocked, which, well, no surprise there, but he also looks kinda upset, and that’s not such a big surprise either. Clint tries to explain that he didn’t know, that this is all a big misunderstanding, but he’s not sure how much of that comes through the shrug and grimace combo he shoots Coulson’s way. Coulson stands with his arms crossed and his legs apart, and _oh_. 

 

Clint’s eyes widen and his mouth forms a tiny ‘o’ as he takes in the sight of Coulson’s cock. 

 

It’s kinda… huge? 

 

Clint looks between Coulson’s dick, the paper on his easel and Coulson’s eyes, which are staring right at Clint, one eyebrow cocked for a moment before he schools his expression into one of passivity. 

 

“Do you need more paper?” The art lady asks, and Clint dumbly nods, still gawping at Coulson’s dick before blinking and realising she’s holding out a sheet for him to take. He pins it up like she showed him and he makes an attempt to draw as best he can, which isn’t saying much. He sort of doodles a bit and spends the rest of the time staring at … That.

 

-

 

Phil feels like he’s having an out of body experience. The stripper he has not so secretly been pining for is somehow here, in his goddamn art class, looking at his naked body. He can’t exactly find out why without breaking his pose, so he just stands there, arms folded as he mulls over it, watching Clint peek his head back and forth from behind his easel. 

 

Phil isn’t usually embarrassed about his body - he wouldn’t be here doing this if he was, but of all people to look at it, the beautiful adonis whose entire _thing_ is how gorgeous he is, feels like too much. He knows he can’t stack up to that, and he wouldn’t even attempt to anyway. Does Clint think he’s a poser? An exhibitionist? A middle-aged man who doesn’t go to the gym enough?

 

Phil catches himself - he shouldn’t be the one feeling awkward here - Clint’s the one who just showed up unannounced like some kind of stalker. And how did he even know about this anyway? It’s not like Phil told him ‘oh, by the way, if you want to see _me_ naked just hop on down to life drawing 101’. No, Clint’s in the wrong, and Phil has every right to be pissed. 

 

He asks if Elaine minds if he sits for a couple of poses. She fetches him a chair and he sits, angled straight at Clint, arms behind his head and legs spread. If he’s come to ogle, then he can ogle _this_.

 

—

 

Clint can’t work out if Coulson is angry or trying to seduce him - or both? He wants to text Natasha and ask her what he should do, but she’ll just laugh for a hundred years and won’t be helpful at all. 

 

Dammit, what was he thinking? 

 

Coulson has moved into some kind of ‘come and suck my dick right now’ blowjob pose, and it is all Clint can do to stop himself from crawling right on over and begging forgiveness for being such a goddamn weird asshole to let his tech whiz friend e-stalk his LinkedIn. His mouth is watering, and he looks helplessly at the cock that he didn’t even know existed forty-five minutes ago. Well, he knew that Coulson probably had a dick, but he didn’t know it would be a full on beast. What must it look like hard? Does one of his arms deflate with all the blood rushing to it? 

 

He realises he’s drawn an elaborately detailed image of said beast and swiftly tacks up a fresh piece of paper before the art lady comes back around. 

 

 

—

 

There are a couple more poses, and Phil stops shoving his dick in Clint’s direction for some of them. He does seem to be drawing, so perhaps this wasn’t just a voyeuristic trip for him and he’s secretly an artist on his time off from the club. Perhaps.

 

Elaine claps her hands to signal the end of class, thanks everyone for coming and reminds them that the class runs every week and always accepts new students. Phil puts his robe back on, tying it swiftly and making to march out to the supply closet where he changed out of his clothes at the start of class. 

 

“Wait,” calls a voice, and Phil turns to find Clint almost tripping over the leg of an easel on his way to him. “Phil?” 

 

Phil keeps walking as he throws back, “Care to tell me how you know my name?” 

 

“Wait, I’m sorry. It was — it was a whole thing, my friend Tony and — the tie had your name on it and.” He shakes his head and Phil stops to let him say his piece. “I just figured you went to a class here and I guess I thought…” he shrugs, clearly annoyed with himself. “Well, I don’t know what I thought, but I didn’t know— this whole thing. Sorry, I’m not making much sense.” 

 

“And my name?” 

 

“Oh right, um. It’s a long story?” He cringes. “I can explain though! Um. I sorta spent my last five bucks on the class but if you come back with me I can get some cash off my roommate Sam and I can take you to dinner to explain everything and also apologise?” 

 

Phil stares at him, and despite everything, finds himself smiling, and then laughing. Clint just looks confused, which makes Phil laugh even more. “Are you asking me on a date?” 

 

“Ye-es?” He replies, like he’s only now thinking this through. He gives Phil a hopeful, lopsided grin.

 

Phil should definitely know better, but right there, barefoot in the arts building corridor in nothing but a robe, with this too-cute-despite-himself-guy-who-may-also-be-a-stalker, he can’t think of a single reason to say no.

 

“Let me get dressed and I’ll see what we can do.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you're worried about the plot, here it is: Clint, armed with only Phil's surname and initial, tries to find out more info about Coulson online. He fails, but then Tony Stark helps him out and finds out more than Clint had been bargaining for. He then takes that information and goes to where he thinks Phil might be (an art class) without really thinking about what he's doing. Little does he know - Phil isn't taking the art class, he's modelling (naked) for it! 
> 
> Phil is a bit mad but mostly amused and charmed. Listen... it's fanfic ok? If this happened IRL anyone would (and should!) probably run a mile!


End file.
